Dinner Date
by Skylark Evanson
Summary: "This is something a typical relationship should be able to handle just fine. Talking regularly, like normal, boring people. We should be able to handle this, John."


**A/N: Here's a second attempt at trying to write Johnlock. This one, I hope, will be easier to write. Except for having a hard time getting a set-up, the concept came with a smooth enough thought process.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock; created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

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_**Dinner Date**_

As the sun leaves the windows of 221B, John reaches over to turn on a light. He shakes the newspaper to get it right again before continuing to read about how Scottland Yard solved another case. There's no mention of Sherlock Holmes anywhere in the article. John smiles at the true lack of information travelling through the world of journalism and continues on to check the weather for the rest of the week.

Sherlock comes in, looks around for a place to put his scarf and coat, then decides to drop both on the floor; they blend in with the rest of the piles of books and clothing and everything else that's just lying around. "John." His greeting is curt and somewhat warm, if Sherlock's voice can even take on that tone.

"Evening." John would ask where he's been or if there's another case, but he's becoming as observant as his boyfriend. He can see the slight downward curve in Sherlock's lips, not the usual one, and that's a tell-tale sign of no case and that he didn't eat while he was out. Otherwise he would've brought something back for his flatmate, which happens often though they've never eaten together, especially not in such a casual setting.

There's a bit of dramatic sighing as Sherlock meanders around the flat, scratching his head and looking around for something to do, something to keep him occupied. He even reaches for his scarf, something to keep his hands busy, and when he finds it gone, he heaves a long, more dramatic sigh and then turns his sights to the kitchen.

John already knows the kitchen is empty, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Sherlock that. He'll just let him go and find out on his own. He feels bad about it, but only a little bit.

Instead, his boyfriend comes back with two bags of prepackaged food. Sherlock drops the sack meal on John's lap. "Dinner," he says nonchalantly before placing himself on the far end of the couch and looking up at the yellow smile on the wall by way of the large mirror. He grins smugly to himself and begins to open up his own food before flashing that smirk at John and biting into a sandwich of some sort.

There are... quirks Sherlock has. Not sleeping, the nicotine patches, the pacing, the sleep-talking. Not eating could easily be one of them. Because this is the first time John has ever seen Sherlock eat. They go out to places and John'll eat and sometimes Sherlock will have coffee or maybe even tea, but John doesn't remember a time where he's seen Sherlock eat. Possibly once or twice, but no real memory comes to mind.

So this is their first... dinner date?

"When did you get food?" asks John softly, looking at his own sandwich after pulling it out of the bag.

"Noon."

"When- When you ate lunch?" He tries to slip the question in quietly but is unsuccessful; he gets a curious look from Sherlock, the one with a raised brow and a slightly twisted lower lip.

"No." He takes a bite of his sandwich and draws his eyes away from John. His gaze is now fixated on the mirror above the fireplace. "I didn't have lunch today."

Well, now Sherlock's onto him. John goes down quietly and decides to eat his sandwich in silence. He keeps watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Those elegant features are beautiful, his sharp cheekbones and that bright blue gaze. His hair is just a curly mess half the time, but it's still stunning even when he's just woken up. John's amazed that he doesn't pay attention to these details more often.

He asks, "Why not?"

Sherlock responds, "I don't eat much."

They sit in this silence again, the sound of munching lettuce and the rustling of brown bags pervading the air. Beyond that, the two men have nothing interesting to say to each other. No cases to talk about, no weather to comment on, not even the bothersome toll of traffic to report.

"You don't- You don't do dinner often, do you?" asks John, giving his boyfriend a sideways look.

"I'm not quite sure how a date works, so this is an experiment for me." He takes a short pause and stares into space quietly. Those blue eyes go distant and unfocused before zeroing back in on the space right in front of his face and then flickering to John. "This whole eating with another human thing is new, it's strange. And boring. Because you're supposed to talk when you're on a date, right? We aren't talking, John. We have nothing to talk about."

"Sure we do." John brushes a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Of course we do." But his mind draws a blank. Really, they don't have much to talk about. "But-"

"But what, John?" asks Sherlock, taking another bite of his sandwich and then continuing on his theory and hypothesis rant, which usually precedes a rational explanation of something fantastic and yet believable. His mouth is still full of bread and other foods. "This is something a typical relationship should be able to handle just fine. Talking regularly, like normal, boring people. We should be able to handle this, John. I know I'm not on your intellect level-" (John pretends not to be offended.) "-but I should be able to at least make small talk with an average human!" (He secretly is offended.) "We're on a date, right?" asks Sherlock as he carries on. "This is meant to be a date and this is my first date in years and I can't even have a conversation with my boyfriend, this is impossible! We've lived together for a long time now and I can't even talk with you unless it's to complain about how you chew with your mouth open or to gripe about how you never buy enough food!" (There have been plenty of moments where John just wants to punch Sherlock's smug face, but this is one of those moments where it's extremely difficult to fight back that urge.) "We're dating, John, this should not be this hard, just get on my intellect level so we can carry on like we're actually in a relationship."

There's a lull in the action as John takes a bite of his sandwich. And then another one. And then another one. And Sherlock continues to stare at him with those piercing blue eyes. They're analyzing him, reading his body language.

And John knows how to close himself up like a book, to hide all his content and words and opinions and only let his spine show. So Sherlock has to judge that book by it's cover. And that cover is a blank face that keeps chewing a sandwich. With an open mouth, nonetheless.

Sherlock won't be the first to burst the silence. He's too proud to answer himself or to pose more questions before the first has been answered when it must be answered by someone other than himself. Because these sorts of things can't all be sorted out in his head when it involves a person other than himself. And he cares about John too much, so he needs to listen to his boyfriend's input. It's something he learned while reading about how to stay in a relationship. Which is why he brought dinner. He would've made it, but that involved too much effort and he would've had to put away his chemistry lab that's splayed out on the kitchen table, and that in itself would've taken far too long and the space would've been taken up in his bedroom and-

"It's just not us." John balls up the wrapping that was around his sandwich and tossed it in the direction of the living area's trashcan, which is already overflowing with scrap paper and scribbles of an old code.

Sherlock's analytical eyes follow all across John's features to try and read him. But he's shut tightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean-" John stands up and looks around the room and scratches his cheek for a moment. "-that maybe we just don't date."

A cloud of disappointment passes across Sherlock's features. But it's cut short as John continues:

"Like- Like we just don't go out and do normal relationship things. We can go out and buy groceries together and we can solve cases and live together, but we don't need to- to go eat out at places and force small talk." John looks down at his boyfriend briefly. Then his gaze falls on that mirror as he checks his hair. "Listen, Sherlock, you're not exactly a normal person. You shouldn't have to lower yourself to the standards of a normal person and if you don't want to go on a date with me and become a lesser being, then I won't make you."

"You'd be alright with that?" questions Sherlock crisply, a bit of shock in his words

"I'm dating a brilliant man with the ability to solve almost any mystery handed to him. You pay for the roof above my head and the bed that I sleep in. I shouldn't ask the world of you when you already offer enough to the world." He rubs the back of his head for a second. "We'll make this work somehow. I'm not concerned about it."

Sherlock sinks into the couch more. It's now relief that sweeps across his visage.

"Anyways," says John with a quick stretch, "I'm off to bed." He began to move towards their bedroom. "Join me whenever you want." He waves to his boyfriend before vanishing into the darkness and shutting the door behind him.

He has never truly appreciated John as much as he does in that singular moment. He takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at that smiling yellow face in the mirror. And Sherlock smiles to himself.

He's genuinely lucky to have as brilliant of a man as John Watson at his side.

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**A/N: Ah, I'm really iffy on Sherlock's characterization here. He's difficult to get the sentence patterns right! Anyways, review please and leave feedback. Thanks for reading!**

**~Sky**


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